


Peripeteia

by GrinningColossus



Series: Three Acts [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Multi, Smut, in which Geoffrey faces many a dilemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrinningColossus/pseuds/GrinningColossus
Summary: Over the course of his...intimate association with two vampires, there are some things Geoffrey McCullum has been actively trying to avoid.The first, of course, is accidentally becoming a vampire, too.The second is Priwen finding out about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my previous work, Hamartia. I'm channeling my inner Jonathan and being extra pretentious with my title again, nbd.
> 
> While it does put things into context, it's not necessary to read Hamartia first.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

 

 **Peripeteia -** **_(noun)_ ** _[peri-puh-TIE-uh]_

A sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances.

 

\----

Geoffrey was drenched in sweat, his every movement pulling on his overtaxed muscles, but there was no place he’d rather be.

Sean Hampton, the so-called Saint, normally so soft-spoken and retiring, shook uncontrollably as Geoffrey held his waist and urged their hips together. His head thrown back over Jonathan’s shoulder, he arched his back into the doctor, Jonathan’s body against his the only means of keeping him upright. Skilled surgeon’s hands skimmed down his shoulders, his flanks, skirting around to the tease the sensitive skin of his groin. Sean’s front was sticky with Geoffrey’s seed, his back wet with Jonathan’s, and vampire and hunter both urged Sean to follow their descent into release.

Jonathan had been nibbling at the juncture of Sean’s neck and shoulder but now he bit down, blood welling up beneath his fangs. He did not drink long, just enough to get himself worked up from the taste of Skal blood, but when he sealed his bloody lips against Sean’s mouth it seemed to be the catalyst the Saint needed.

With a wrenched cry and whispered prayer Sean came, spurting his seed onto the place where his and Geoffrey’s bodies met.

His head was spinning, his heart thrumming, and Geoffrey was taken up in the moment, in the sight of his bedfellows blissed out on blood and sex. Jonathan’s strong, lean arms, his skin so pale, his eyes so dark. Sean’s bruised but sweet body, his bandaged hands clutching Jonathan’s thighs as if the contact was all that tethered him to this world.

Geoffrey was exhausted and overwhelmed and he reached out to take Sean’s face in his hands, stared at his lips intently as he licked his own, ready to kiss the Skal breathless--

A cold hand took him by the chin and forced him gently but firmly away from Sean.

“No, Geoffrey,” Jonathan murmured. “You mustn’t.”

Baring his teeth, Geoffrey stared Jonathan down. This sort of thing had been happening all too often lately, ever since Geoffrey was sure that Sean would welcome his touch. It was hard _not_ to touch Sean once he’d started; the man was infinitely sensitive and expressive, and perhaps he liked the idea that he was the wicked tempter leading the pious disciple astray a little too much.

Jonathan’s brows furrowed in sympathy. “I understand your frustration but you know you can’t.”

Relenting, Geoffrey fell onto his back on the mattress. Better to be away from the two of them, if he could not indulge his desires to taste them.

Sean let out a whimper and Jonathan turned him just slightly so that he sat more in his lap, and Geoffrey was only able to watch as they kissed, Sean’s hands gripping Jonathan’s dark hair tight as his mouth was plundered of every last drop of blood.

He hated this. As much as it was always a pleasure to watch Jonathan and Sean together, he couldn’t help the insidious pit of jealousy that was growing bigger inside him each day. They had been doing this for months now, and the moment any blood that wasn’t his was introduced to one of their sessions he had no choice but to distance himself.

“We can tell when you’re pouting,” Jonathan said, derailing his thoughts.

“Fuck off.”

“It must be difficult,” Sean placated, petting him. “But it’s not worth the risk.”

“It takes more than a drop. You should know that.”

Jonathan sighed. “And you, Guard, should know better than to take chances. One would be tempted to think you’re being reckless on purpose.”

Geoffrey scowled. “I’ve no wish to become a leech.”

“Really?” Jonathan shot back, patience long dried up. “Because you seem quite ambivalent about it of late.”

Sitting up abruptly, Geoffrey narrowed his eyes and snarled, “I don’t want to be like you, doctor, and I sure as hell don’t want to be a bloody Skal.” When Jonathan opened his mouth, Geoffrey cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Sean sat quietly through the exchange and for some reason he seemed distant even to Jonathan as the doctor helped him to dress. Even while his old wounds healed, a benefit of reliable access to Ekon blood, Sean’s body bloomed with new scrapes and bruises after each encounter with them. Their attempts to be careful with him only agitated him and earned them a scolding for treating him so delicately.

Despite their barbed exchange, Jonathan still leaned down and pressed a kiss to Geoffrey’s temple before he and Sean left. Geoffrey watched them climb onto the window ledge and, one after the other, disappear in a wisp of black smoke.

It was only when he was alone, the room still and silent as a crypt, that Geoffrey realized what he’d implied.

It was one thing to toss grenades at Jonathan. The doctor was himself well-versed in the art of sarcasm and repartee, and Geoffrey hadn’t made much effort to stop insulting Jonathan’s vampirism even after they started sleeping together.

It was entirely another to slap that venom onto Sean. Sure, he’d poked fun at Skal nature, compared his skin to tissue paper, asked Sean to turn down his eyes because they were giving him a headache, that sort of thing. But to state in no uncertain terms that Sean’s condition was far more distasteful and undesirable than Jonathan’s...well.

Many people said it. Priwen said it, the Brotherhood knew it, and Ekons certainly didn’t hide their feelings. Months ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to say it, either.

Whether consciously or not, whether willingly or not, things had changed.

Geoffrey rubbed his eyes hard with the heel of his hands and groaned in frustration. It suddenly mattered, quite a lot, that he had hurt Sean Hampton’s feelings.

\----

Water dripped from high above, the sound of each droplet magnified by the echoing stone around them. Wooden pews buckled under their own soggy weight, glass crunched underfoot, and all the while the ruined, shoddy roof cried. _Drip, drip, drip._

Geoffrey’s footprints were bloody where he’d slogged through the puddle underneath the monster, the thing’s eyes wide open as the rest of its blood drained out and was diluted by the rainwater.

Jonathan hadn’t said a word since it died, merely stood there and looked behind the podium at the crooked crucifix, thoughtful.

“Best be moving on,” Geoffrey told him gruffly. This part of down was particularly devastated by the epidemic, as poor as it was, and though hardly any living creatures still called the area home, there may be plenty of undead ones lured by the sound of their fight.

“It’s curious, isn’t it?” Jonathan murmured. “Normally such things repel me, and yet I can stand within the walls of this church unharmed.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Geoffrey crossed the room and stood a respectful distance from him, glancing around at the derelict holy symbols all about. “This place hasn’t seen worship in a long time, I’d reckon.”

“I suppose there is a limit to how effective a broken thing can be, even for items of religious significance.”

Geoffrey _hmm_ ed.

“It seems God has left this place, after all.”

“Aye. If he was ever here to begin with.”

This broke Jonathan of his brooding mood, and he turned to face Geoffrey, pale blue eyes glinting in the low moonlight. “You’re fortunate Sean’s not here to hear you speak such blasphemy,” he teased.

The mention of Sean gave Geoffrey a sour taste in his mouth. “It’s far from the only thing he’d hold against me at the moment.”

“He and I spoke about it at length, you know.”

Geoffrey frowned. “About what?”

“The...problem,” Jonathan answered, gesturing vaguely. “All of it. About what was said the other night, and the dangers our...relationship...poses to you. Among other things.”

“Why am I not surprised you two gossip like hens when I’m not around?” He scowled, walking towards the back of the church and away from Jonathan, who hurried to catch up with him.

“Don’t be obtuse, Geoffrey; we were not _gossiping_. This problem has remained unspoken among us for too long, and Sean and I finally addressed it with one another. And I know you’re too proud to ask, but Sean bears you no ill will for what happened. He understands completely, as do I.”

“What is there to understand?” Geoffrey growled, aware that he could only play dumb for so long.

“It’s entirely reasonable that you would want to avoid our fate, while at the same time grapple with temptation for it.”

Geoffrey snorted. Jonathan always did fancy himself an expert at psychoanalysis, the pretentious bastard.

What could he even say to that? How could he put into words the twin urges of survival and belonging, the dazzlingly painful stab of fear mixed with the deepest sense of longing gnawing at him? How could he express that each passing day he felt more and more like the outsider, like he was being outpaced and left behind? And that the answering thoughts of _what if_ and _would it be so bad_ were swatted back immediately with guilt.

Intimacy, but at what cost?

When he’d said nothing for too long, Jonathan took him by the hand, stroking along his knuckles. “I don’t think _you_ understand, Geoffrey.” His voice was quiet but vast, like the ocean at night, his eyes equally unfathomable. “It would bring me nothing but joy to have you join us, and I think Sean would agree. On your own terms, of course. I wouldn’t dare to attempt it without your full consent.

“I have always been drawn to you; I’ve found you impossible to ignore, for better or worse.” He smiled wryly. “To have someone like you--strong, capable, driven, intelligent--as a fellow Ekon by my side would be...well, it’s the stuff of dreams.

“But if that was ever something you wanted, Sean and I are both in agreement that you cannot be allowed to become a Skal. It’s a simple truth: Skal nature would do you no favours. It would make hunting unsustainable. It would give you weaknesses you can’t afford.” Geoffrey tried to pull his arm away but Jonathan held fast, reeled him in, spoke into the crook of his neck. “It has to be me, if at all.”

Of course Jonathan would want that, would want Geoffrey to become a vampire like them, and he was right that being a Skal would ruin Geoffrey for hunting, his purpose and passion in life. Not to mention the personal gain for Jonathan if he was to be Geoffrey’s Maker; just watching the physical manifestation of the bond between him and Sean, when Sean was barely his progeny, was evidence enough that he and Geoffrey would catch like flint on steel if he was Geoffrey’s sire.

Instead of acknowledging any of this, however, Geoffrey grumbled, “you accused me of being heedless to the risks.”

Jonathan exhaled against his skin, causing his hair to stand on end. “I worry that I want it too much, and I will be the one who slips. I need you to defend yourself. I need you to remind me, continually and unequivocally, that you don’t want to become a vampire.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted.

“I know. It’s one thing not to have the choice, and to have the curse thrust upon you without knowing the first thing about what it means to be a vampire, as was the case with me,” he said bitterly. “It’s quite another to fully comprehend the implications and decide it for yourself.”

“I can’t become a vampire. I just can’t.”

“‘Just can’t’ isn’t a terribly compelling reason on its own, my friend. But know that whatever you decide, we accept. The three of us are still young, even we who are immortal now. I could never ask eternity of either of you. I cannot even ask a human lifespan, or a Priwen lifespan, which seem to be considerably shorter.” He tightened his grip on Geoffrey just a hair. “Whether you tire of us sooner or later or never, I will take what you’re willing to give.”

Geoffrey swallowed hard. “And how can you be so sure of what your own eternity entails?”

“I’m not. There are no guarantees. All I know is that in the absence of absolute certainty, the preponderance of the evidence will suffice.”

“Would it kill you to speak plainly?”

“In other words,” he said, corners of his lips quirking, “I’m pretty damn sure.”

\----

A few more nights went by before Geoffrey could stop by the Night Shelter.

He and the men were at the Turtle, getting righteously drunk after a successful hunt down by the water’s edge. Some of the unluckiest among them were soaking wet and smelled less than fresh, but Geoffrey thought they’d all done a good job regardless.

It took some getting used to, having only human companions with him during a fight. Apparently he’d become spoiled with Jonathan’s presence, expecting to see shadow and claws and shining fangs at his side at any moment instead of pistols and swords.

When the men were drunk enough, Geoffrey slipped away with a mumbled excuse, and made his way west to the Shelter.

He himself was not entirely sober, so that probably explained the strange, twisting sensation in his gut when he laid eyes on Sean Hampton, hard at work at the outer wall surrounding the factory. He was attempting to tear down years worth of old posters and playbills tacked there. As he approached, Geoffrey suddenly felt a gust of air at his side and then Jonathan was there.

He’d thought Sean was alone tonight, but apparently Jonathan had a difficult time staying away. Leeches were territorial. They had a radius of influence and they liked to keep everything within it under their control, and God have mercy on your soul if you attempted to interfere. Jonathan’s continued presence here was a clear signal to other vampires: fuck off, if you want to live.

The Shelter probably reeked of Jonathan, Sean included. Geoffrey wondered if _he_ smelled of Jonathan, if he was a walking advertisement of Jonathan’s ownership. The thought didn’t disgust him as it once might have.

Sean stood to greet him. “Good evening, Mr. McCullum.” Because it was always _sir_ and _Mr. McCullum_ unless Geoffrey actively had Sean’s cock in his mouth or hands, and then he might get _Geoffrey_ whispered like a forbidden prayer.

Geoffrey wasn’t having that today.

Confident that Jonathan would warn him if there were prying eyes about, he stalked forward and backed Sean against the wall, clasping his chin in his hands and turning his head this way and that. Sean licked his lips but there was no blood on them, so without further pretense Geoffrey kissed him, hoping this would serve as an apology when words couldn’t. He still found it so much more difficult to talk to Sean than it was to be physical with him. Between Geoffrey and Jonathan, if one of them was a bigger affront to Sean’s God, it would have almost certainly been Jonathan, the devil who subsists on the blood of the living, and yet was Geoffrey who lacked the easy connection Jonathan had with the Saint, leaving him unsure and bumbling.

But Sean reached for him all the same and tugged Geoffrey into a softer, sweeter version of the kiss that was so gentle it set his nerves on fire, slipping his arms under Geoffrey’s coat and around his waist, and between Sean’s exhale and his smile when they pull away, he understands that he is forgiven.

“My condition is a blessing for me,” Sean told Geoffrey quietly, as Jonathan gave in to the urge to intervene and drew close to them from the side, placing a hand on both their shoulders. “I can be in contact with the sickest of my flock without endangering myself. I can use my immortal life to help as long as I am able. God knew the abilities of an Ekon were not for me, and I’m grateful for the gift I’ve received.” His fingers were painfully tender against Geoffrey’s stubble. “I know it would not be so for everyone. There is no shame in that.”

“I know,” Geoffrey said, about to kiss Sean quiet again, when the moment was shattered by a flurry of movement at the Shelter’s entrance.

“Oi!” someone called. “What the bloody hell is going on here?!”

A group of Priwen men stood there, breathless from running and torches aflame, staring straight at where Geoffrey was unmistakably embracing two known vampires in a way that couldn’t be explained away as anything else.

“ _Shit_.”

Jonathan was instantly on alert, pushing Sean behind him. To his credit he didn’t escalate the tension by baring his teeth or making threats, he merely positioned himself at the front of the line.

“McCullum?” said one of the men, stepping closer. It was one of the older hands, Alfred Chandless, a London man born and bred who signed up almost immediately after the threats against the city became apparent. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Geoffrey shot back in lieu of an intelligent answer.

“We wanted to make sure you were alright after wandering off like you did.”

“Get away from them, McCullum!” cut in another Guard, this one younger and clearly less accustomed to containing his temper. “Those are fucking leeches!”

Geoffrey knew if he kept standing there with Sean and Jonathan, sooner or later one of his men would try to come and get him. Violence could erupt. He did the only thing he could think to do and broke away from them. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t significant, it wasn’t some dramatic choice he was making, just a temporary, _necessary_ measure to avoid conflict, but as he left Jonathan and Sean and went to join his men, it didn’t feel so simple.

“Get out of here,” he commanded. “These two leeches are off limits, as I’ve already told most of you louts.”

“But, sir--”

“We’re going back to headquarters _now_ , rookie. I don’t want to hear another word.”

And thank the stars he’d trained them well, because despite the anger and confusion evident on some faces, the group crumbled under his authority and began to make their way back to the Turtle to collect their brethren.

He didn’t dare rejoin Sean and Jonathan. The two of them just looked at him, Jonathan’s grip tight on Sean’s elbow, and Geoffrey shook his head and turned to shoo the stragglers towards the road as he fell into step with them.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

\----


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to cram a lot more into this chapter but as I went on I felt it would become kind of unwieldy if I didn't break it up, so apologies for the short update. :o

 

The news of his indiscretion reached headquarters before Geoffrey did. 

The knowledge of how badly he’d really fucked up hit him when he saw all four of his captains, the highest ranking in the Guard second only to Geoffrey himself, waiting for him just past the gate. 

It was Trudy Jacobsen, leader of the Gunners, who approached him first, her expression a mix between confusion and revulsion. 

“Is it true?” she asked. 

“It is,” Geoffrey said, jutting his chin out defiantly. “And I’ll bet you lot would like to have a chat about it, wouldn’t you?” 

Trudy smiled tightly. “If it’s not too much trouble, sir.” 

“Not until he’s seen Dr. Stanton,” cut in the largest among them: Mickey McNamara, leader of the Brawlers. “We need to make sure he’s clean first.” 

“Fine, fine,” Geoffrey replied. There was no point arguing, and he would have done the same were it one of them. “I’ll join you in the meeting room when Lloyd’s finished with me. Shouldn’t be long.” 

Lloyd was expecting him, and by some miracle iit seemed he hadn’t heard the full story yet. 

“Causing trouble again?” the doctor greeted as he strode through the door of the infirmary. “I swear I’ve tested you twice as much as all the others combined.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Lloyd. Just get it over with.” He slumped into the nearest chair while the doctor fetched his strange, portable light device and fired it up, blasting the beam directly into Geoffrey’s face with no warning. “Christ,” Geoffrey swore, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. Exactly as he knew it would, however, the only thing that happened...was nothing. 

“That’s good news, at least. I’ll still need to have a more thorough look at you, see what we’re dealing with.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “You’re dealing with me, same as I always was.” 

As if Geoffrey hadn’t said anything, Lloyd proceeded to examine his eyes and his mouth and his pulse. Then he said, “Take your shirt off please.” 

“Is this really necessary--” 

“ _ Now _ ,” the doctor cut in firmly. 

Geoffrey grit his teeth and complied, removing his bandana and then each button all the way down his torso, and he identified the very moment Lloyd got a good look at him because a flash of concern lit across his features. Geoffrey was always a mess in one way or another and the doctor had seen him in worse condition plenty of times, but even he knew the damage was different now.

“They didn’t tell me everything,” Lloyd said softly, leaning in closer. “Wanted me to come to my own conclusions. There aren’t too many to choose from, in this case.” He circled around, taking in the criss-cross of red scratches on Geoffrey’s back. He returned front, prodded carefully at the lower portions of Geoffrey’s neck and throat, the region that was most affected. “There are old marks here, of course. Almost everyone I see in this place has them. The scarring is very particular.” He maneuvered the skin between his fingers, allowing the light to play across the area. “These recent bites are different. There are healed punctures which are not so scarred, and fresh ones without the trademark bruising under the entry points.” 

Lloyd plopped down in the chair opposite Geoffrey, stroking his chin. 

“So?” Geoffrey asked at length, when the doctor appeared too engrossed in thought to say anything .

“Hands please.” He snatched up Geoffrey’s hands when they were offered, turning his arms this way and that. His scrutiny made Geoffrey very self-conscious; there was a recent bite from Sean on the inside of his left wrist, just at the place where his forearm began, and the warm memory of Sean’s lips on his pulse point shot through him at the same time as he was trying desperately to remain calm. As if sensing his preoccupation, Lloyd examined that bite closely before returning Geoffrey’s hands to him.

He said nothing, merely jotted some notes on a piece of parchment on his desk while Geoffrey buttoned his shirt back up, and just like that he was free to go. 

To think, that had been the easy part. 

Slowly, as if his muscles were bogged in molasses, Geoffrey trudged upstairs to the meeting room. Like many things with Priwen the room was as functional as it was unofficial, with most of the space taken by things that couldn’t fit anywhere else in the building, but it had chairs and writing space and was the furthest room away from the main bunks, and therefore as far as could be from prying eyes and ears. 

The captains were waiting for him, all except George Mayberry, leader of the Chaplains, who arrived five minutes later with a single cup of tea for himself and a piece of paper which he handed to Mickey, who read it and passed it to Trudy, who read it and passed it to Alfred Chandless, leader of the Executioners, who placed it carefully atop the table once he’d finished reading.

“Well,” said Mickey at last. “We all know this ain’t school and we ain’t your marms here to give you a smack on the knuckles. But I want to know what you, Geoffrey McCullum, were doing with those two leeches.”

Geoffrey leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “As I reminded Alfred earlier this evening, there are documents on file detailing why the leeches known as Sean Hampton and Doctor Jonathan Reid are better left alive. These aren’t deranged monsters that need to be put down. If you saw me with any other pair of gentlemen, we wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Regardless of what may or may not be on file, I’ve never fully agreed with your decision to keep those two off-limits,” Trudy said. She kept her greying hair in a tight bun at all times, and it gave a severe-looking tilt to her eyebrows that had frightened many a rookie. “And you’re right, if you were there with any other human men I’d be the first to tell everyone to mind their own damn business. But you have to understand why it would be cause for concern that the leader of Priwen is fraternizing with not one, but two vampires.”

“Are you calling me a hypocrite, Trudy?” he growled, staring her straight in the eye.

She returned his gaze just as fiercely. “Among other things.” 

George set down his tea and sighed. “You are putting yourself in danger, sir. It is one thing to engage these beasts in combat. The risk is not so great. But if you carry on this way, you’ll catch the curse sooner or later.” 

“And there is no precedent for...socializing with vampires,” Alfred agreed. “Even in the rare instances we have allowed our prey to live to die another day, we do not engage amicably with them. That has always been the Brotherhood’s fantasy, a world in which vampires and humans get on like kittens in a basket.”

Geoffrey snorted. On the few occasions he’d met with Edgar Swansea since Jonathan began his work at Pembroke, he could practically see the way Swansea was squirming in his trousers over him. That was a man with a vested interest in ‘getting on’ with leeches. 

“The Brotherhood is delusional, I can’t deny that. As a whole they’ve taken complete leave of their senses over the last few decades. But I often wonder if we’re missing something, too; with everything Doctor Reid has done, personally and at great cost to himself, to end the epidemic, there is something to the idea that scorched earth isn’t always the most productive tactic.” 

“Are you suggesting we leave even more of them alive?” George scoffed, his tea cup hitting the saucer with a  _ clank _ . 

“Absurd,” joined Trudy. “This goes against everything the Guard has stood for, especially in the days since you’ve been its leader. Do we need to remind you of your own principles?”

“My principles are on my mind as much as ever, Trudy,” Geoffrey snarled. “Unlike yours they have been  _ evolving _ . I’ve never forgotten who I am or why I’m here. I think about my family all the time, about what I had to do to Ian. I know it was the right thing to do. There are still plenty of leeches and monsters out there I won’t hesitate to crush. But I’ve learned that there are reluctant beasts out there, creatures who are cursed but do all they can to resist and, more importantly,  _ succeed  _ at it. 

“I’m not asking you all to make friends with every Skal you cross paths with. I’m asking you to use your common sense. Sean Hampton, for one, had the rage inside him cured with Ekon blood. I’ve seen with my own eyes that it has no hold over him. And his shelter keeps vulnerable humans off the street and out of the mouths of the real beasts.

“And...and Jonath--Doctor Reid, is a doctor first and a leech second, and you tell me a leech that works in a hospital, surrounded on all sides by the weak, the bleeding, and the dying, that still manages to resist its hunger...tell me that doesn’t impress you even a little?” 

Trudy’s eyes are cold as ice as her gaze bores into him. “You want us to loosen up the rules  _ you  _ created, so that your little leeches can run unfettered and unchecked about the city?”

“How do we know he’s not been compromised?” Mickey asked. “They can make you do whatever they want, Ekons.”

“I’m not under some spell,” countered Geoffrey, growing frustrated. The more he talked the more impassioned he became, surprising himself. These thoughts must have been boiling under the surface for quite some time. 

But wasn’t it true that any good organization had to change with the times to stay alive? Why couldn’t they see that there was a way to use vampires as a resource? And not in the drooling way those Brotherhood sycophants did, but strategically? Carefully? 

“How would you know?” Mickey pressed him, sniffing disdainfully. “Especially if he’s good at it, you won’t know.” 

“I’m under no influence but that of my own conscience and experience. All I’m asking is that you think about the possibility. The ones that like to talk can tell us about other leeches, give us inside information. The ones that heal and cure, well, should they not be able to go on healing and curing?”

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” Alfred mused. “Some of the patrols that haven’t had much to do of late could be rerouted to periodic surveillance of known, supposed peaceful vampires.”

George frowned at him. “You’re not seriously considering this?”

“Just thinking ahead,” Alfred replied, shrugging. 

“Regardless,” Trudy said, pointing at Geoffrey, “you are not to leave headquarters until this is sorted. Though I believe Dr. Stanton would have caught any signs that you’re enthralled, it’s undeniable that you are still compromised.” 

“So, you’re to be my mum after all, eh?” He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Let’s not forget who is in charge here.” 

“And let’s not forget that there are procedures in place to relieve you of duty should you prove unfit for your position.” 

The room went silent as all eyes were on Geoffrey. A rush of emotions scorched through him all at once: anger, disbelief, sadness. 

Resolve.

“Priwen is strong today because of what I did for it. I brought it back from the brink of extinction. And yet I would go, if that was what you would have me do, because it was never wholly mine. No one man can own it. And if it’s my own intolerance in the past that bites me in the arse, so be it.” He exhaled slowly. “But I hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

“We’ll think on it, chap. We will,” Alfred assured him. 

Geoffrey nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”

\----

He hurried down the hall and away from the meeting room, mind whirling. If he had any actual intentions of staying put, he wouldn’t be Geoffrey McCullum.

\----

This one had been giving the neighbourhood trouble for quite some time. It seemed to be both strong and agile, quick like a viper and equally as slippery. 

The first patrol had been too small; they’d been nearly wiped out, the creature too cunning for the unsuspecting troop.

The second and third patrols had been too large, too much overcorrection. They could barely pin the thing down, as good as it was at evading them. Their numbers made them clumsy. 

Perhaps it would be the fourth patrol that succeeded at last. Geoffrey hoped so, anyway, as he approached the dark blot against the sky. The construction site was unlit at this hour and sucked in any light around it like a starving abyss, the stars that winked through the skeletal structure of scaffolding the only hint that something so large was there at all. 

It was here, he was sure of it. Fresh gore littered the area around the base of the tower, barely visible and inky black against the concrete. 

A noise overhead caught his attention, the sound of scrabbling claws scurrying on one of the high, unfinished floors. 

So be it, then.

He began to climb. It was slow going in the darkness but he didn’t give up, and as he rounded what felt to his lungs like the hundredth floor, he saw the telltale glimmer of a monster’s eyes in the night. 

It was crouched against a central pillar, remains strewn about it. It was one of those large beasts, the kind with a lion’s mane and tiger’s claws and the gait of a man, but this thing was spindly and lean, built for climbing. 

He thought he’d been sneaky, readying his gun beneath the folds of his coat, but the creature darted out of the way just as he took his first shot, which ricocheted off the pillar harmlessly. 

They circled each other up there, Geoffrey minding the drop as there was no railing or barrier to speak of between them and the ground far below. The thing lunged and caught him and he struggled under it, shooting into its arm in the frenzy. He could reach the dagger at his thigh and used it to force the beast off of him, and he swiped at it over and over, missing but tiring it out until he managed to land a good cut on its abdomen. 

Agitated by the pain, the creature threw back its head and roared. Geoffrey stumbled as if a wave of some kind had staggered him, and before he could regain his sense of direction the monster collided with him, running him back with the sheer weight of its body and powerful legs, and something very strange happened to Geoffrey’s center of gravity. Rather, he lost it completely, and when he saw the stars again he realised he was falling. 

There was weightlessness, and adrenaline flooding through his veins uselessly, and everything seemed to slow down as the night and the stars and the buildings swirled in front of him, and his own outstretched hand, reaching for the impossible. 

The jolt of hitting the ground was the last thing he felt.

\----


	3. Chapter 3

\----

It was getting late. Or early, rather. Jonathan didn’t know or particularly care if he would ever break himself of that convention.

Even the late night fidgeters, those strange nocturnal folks who wandered through Pembroke’s halls from dusk until dawn, had settled down for the most part since he last did his rounds, and there was not much to do but retreat to his bedroom for the evening. 

It might not have been the best idea, given that Jonathan’s mind had spent every unoccupied moment it got tying itself into knots over Geoffrey McCullum. 

Geoffrey had always had far more to lose from their dalliances, and due to Jonathan’s carelessness he may indeed have lost it that night. If only he had not gotten so distracted by Geoffrey and Sean, he might have seen the threat coming. 

What choice would Geoffrey make? Jonathan had no doubt Priwen  _ would  _ make him choose. What if he chose Priwen? Jonathan couldn’t fault him that, not truly, but the stack of losses that rested upon his shoulders was already too heavy for him to bear in his weakest moments. Geoffrey’s rejection would hurt immensely, he had no doubt.

But as he made up his mind to head upstairs and sequester himself in his room to brood, there was a commotion in the front hall and he hurried over to see what the trouble was. 

It was a small group of people, four men and two women, all of whom were dirty or disheveled or both. One of the women was talking impatiently with Nurse Hawkins, who was doing her best to make sense of the situation, but the newcomers were panicked and insistent and some of them seemed not to speak much English. 

Workers, perhaps already awake for their early shift. 

“Doctor,” Nurse Hawkins sighed when she saw him, “Your assistance please?”

“What is it?” Jonathan asked the woman who was doing most of the talking. “Is someone sick or hurt?”

“Hurt, yes,” she replied, nodding. “We found a man very badly hurt. Please, you must help us bring him inside.” 

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed at once, and two of the men broke from the group to hurry with him outside, where three more men were holding up a makeshift gurney made from lumber and a tarpaulin. On the gurney was an unconscious figure covered in dirt and dried blood.

He was already considering where best to bring this patient when his brain and eyes caught up with one another and he realized with a sickening jolt that he was looking at the mangled body of Geoffrey McCullum. 

\----

The next few minutes passed in such a blur that Jonathan could hardly remember them when he thought back. 

He thanked the people who had found Geoffrey, but couldn’t recall what he said or to whom. He knew he shoved coins into hands, all too aware of how London treated immigrants and the poor. He knew he must have had help carrying Geoffrey upstairs and into the vacant surgery room near to his own. It was Strickland (or Ackroyd?) who held the other half of Geoffrey’s body as they lifted him gently onto the table. He must have been calling out orders because supplies appeared around him, bandages and instruments and water and drugs and rags. 

The situation was not good. His ability to sense the general health of humans, the one vampiric trait he prized above all others, could only get him so far here. He could read only a tangle of malaise and pain, and a sluggish heartbeat, and rasping breaths that rattled through Geoffrey’s throat as he took them. 

The nurses helped him cut away the matted clothing and wipe off the grime and blood, and by the time they’d dirtied all of the rags in the room he could just make out the striking pallor of Geoffrey’s face amid the bruising. His legs didn’t sit correctly. His arms were hardly better. The entire back of him was scraped raw by gravel and covered in the kinds of bruises that form instantly on trauma. 

He didn’t need vampire abilities to tell him Geoffrey had a collapsed lung, at the very least. There was a wet edge to his desperate breaths that suggested it could be even worse, a puncture or hemothorax. 

And though his hands shook, he worked, even as the sun was rising outside, to stabilise the patient, forcing himself to pretend that this was any other man, just some nameless person du jour who needed help.

When it all caught up to him, hours later, he found himself sat there next to the operating table, bloodied gloves on his hands, alone but for the unconscious patient still struggling for air. 

It was well and truly daylight now but sleep was the furthest thing from Jonathan’s mind. Could he be in shock? It seemed likely, given how unreliable his normally sharp constitution was behaving. He peeled off a glove and stroked Geoffrey’s cheek softly, then flinched when the hunter’s eyelids fluttered and opened for the first time since he’d been brought in. 

“Hello,” Jonathan murmured warmly, brushing against his cheek again. “Are you with me, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey’s whole body shook as he inhaled, and he gurgled, but those blue, blue eyes were focused enough on Jonathan that he knew Geoffrey was responsive, if only just.

“Some kind citizens brought you here. It seems that you had a terrible fall. I apologize if you’re groggy, but we needed to give you quite a lot of medication to keep you from feeling the worst of it.” 

Geoffrey’s hand twitched so Jonathan covered it with his own, careful to mind the broken bones in his wrist, and Geoffrey wheezed something that sounded very much like Jonathan’s name. 

His eyes were pleading when they met Jonathan’s. 

“Yes, it’s...it’s bad,” he said, resisting the urge to clench Geoffrey’s hand tight. 

“ _ Bad _ ,” the hunter mouthed. Though cloudy with the drugs and the injuries, his eyes held Jonathan’s gaze steady. He blinked, slowly. 

He sure was handsome, Jonathan thought, despite it all. Geoffrey McCullum sure was lovely. 

God, he was always a sentimental man but it had never been like this before. 

This was the worst part about being a doctor, the task every physician dreaded, and despite the fact that Jonathan was a professional and had excellent bedside manner, his voice quaked without his consent. “You’re dying, Geoffrey. I’m afraid there isn’t much time.”

\----

He left the very moment the sun disappeared completely beneath the horizon, hurrying down the darkening streets and politely brushing aside anyone who tried to stop him for a chat. He felt badly for it, but there simply wasn’t time. 

Of all the unpleasant and painful things he’d done and experienced throughout his life, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this level of sheer terror. Not his boyhood anxiety about Hell, or the rough days spent at sea when he left Ireland, or the many, many times he’d been beaten or mugged or both, had ever put the fear of God into him like this. 

The headquarters of the Guard of Priwen was nestled into a nook just pressing up against the West End, as if this single, ugly building had remained steadfast while the mansions of the upper class sprung up around it. A large wall separated it from the street and the prying eyes of passers by, the gate flanked on both sides by men with guns strapped at their hip. 

“Oi, hold on there,” the man on the left yelled as he approached. “No civilians allowed here, sir. Move along.” 

He was trembling. Damn it, he had tried so hard not to show his fear, but as he slowly turned to face the man and looked him in the eye, he was already bracing for the reaction. 

“It’s a goddamned leech!” the other man cried out, predictably, and within seconds their guns were raised at him, fingers itching towards the trigger, and he stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Stop, please! Wait!” he said quickly, raising his hands in the air. “I mean you no harm.” 

“Step the fuck back!” the man on the left said over him and began to stalk closer. 

“Please, I have an extremely important message.”

“Right, and I’m the bloody Queen.”

“Why else would I have come here, being what I am? What possible reason would there be for me to risk my life, if not for something important?” The guards looked at one another. “Please,” he pressed again. “It’s about Geoffrey McCullum. I need to speak with someone immediately.” 

The man on the right sighed and lowered his gun. “I’m choosing to believe you, leech, but there will be consequences if you’re lying to us.” He gestured towards the building behind him. “I’ll be back.” 

“Oh,” he said, just as he reached the door, “do you have a name, leech?”

“Sean Hampton. Tell them Sean Hampton is here to see them, and it’s urgent.” 

\----

Nighttime had truly settled upon London when Jonathan was jerked out of his fitful half-slumber by raised voices downstairs. He could sense five new heartbeats below and one of them, he was immensely pleased to see, was Sean’s. 

He would never have sent Sean into the lion’s den under any other circumstances but he had to have faith (and wasn’t that a funny word?) that between Priwen’s reluctant truce with Sean and the Skal’s natural ability to talk people off the ledge, he would return unharmed. It was gratifying to be correct. 

Sean’s scent arrived at the room before the man himself, and though it usually had a calming effect on Jonathan the appearance of four strangers, three heavily armed and all splitting disgusted looks between Sean and now him, was enough to jolt his stress levels once more. 

“My God,” breathed the woman as she saw Geoffrey. The man hadn’t improved in any way that mattered since the morning. The painkillers dulled his nerves and let him rest, so his trembling and wheezing gave way to shivers and heavy exhales (particularly after Jonathan tried to drain some of the fluid from his lungs), but there was no mincing words about it: he was at death’s door and looked the part. 

The stranger who had no weapons on him, only a doctor’s bag clutched tight in one hand, rushed forward and began to examine Geoffrey, his eyes wide in horror. 

“Lloyd Stanton,” he said to Jonathan when the vampire stood up and hovered perhaps a bit protectively. “Priwen medic.”

“Thank you for coming, Doctor Stanton.” 

“I’m not sure why I bothered,” murmured the man, his ear close to Geoffrey’s chest. “Mr. McCullum is in very bad shape. He’s got nothing a doctor of my modest calibre could cure.” 

Jonathan cleared his throat. God, he was so tired. “I wanted you to see Geoffrey’s state for yourself,” he explained. “I’m afraid we’ve come to a significant crossroads here, and I thought it only right for his fellow Guards to be present.” 

“So, doctors, let’s hear the truth,” said the woman. “What are his chances?”

“Slim,” Jonathan answered at the same moment Stanton said, “Fuck all.” 

“The internal trauma is too great. Broken bones can heal, and I have reinflated his collapsed lung.” Jonathan did not want to talk about it with these people, with Sean present, and with Geoffrey just lying there,  perhaps able to hear everything that was said. But they were essentially Geoffrey’s family, and he owed it to them. “But I was able to confirm earlier this afternoon that he’s had an aortic rupture. The fall was immense. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill him right away.” 

One of the other men, a taller figure wearing a crucifix around his neck, nodded. “So that is the nature of this choice, then? We must do a terrible thing to save McCullum’s life, or let him die.” 

As Doctor Stanton stepped away, Sean filled his place at Geoffrey’s side, his hand gingerly resting next to the hunter’s arm. He looked down at Geoffrey with sadness etched on every line of his face.

“We can’t allow you to turn him,” said the woman sharply. “It simply cannot be done. It goes against all of Priwen’s values, and Geoffrey would never agree to it.”

“It’s true that he didn’t relish the thought of becoming a vampire, but having known him as I do--”

The woman cut him off with a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, leech. You may know him carnally, but you do not  _ know  _ Geoffrey McCullum as we do, no matter what Stanton’s report says.” 

Jonathan frowned. “Report?”

The final member of the group, who had thus far remained silent, stepped closer to Jonathan. He was wary but there was something uncertain in his posture that went beyond his natural aversion to Jonathan. “We asked Lloyd to examine Mr. McCullum for signs of having already been turned. The report from that examination confirmed he had none, of course, but also suggested that the two of you have been quite...kind to him.”

“What he means to say is that it’s obvious you were being careful,” Stanton was quick to interject. He was blushing furiously.

“Of course we are careful. We’d never wish to harm Mr. McCullum,” said Sean. “I understand the discomfort you must be feeling. It’s difficult to reconcile this lifestyle with the things you think you know about the world and the contents of your own heart. But I firmly believe that a strong person exhibits nothing when they become a vampire that wasn’t already there before, and I believe Mr. McCullum is a strong person and a good man.”

Jonathan gazed fondly at him, meeting Sean’s uncertain look with a small smile. “And God doesn’t make mistakes, isn’t that true, Mr. Hampton?” 

“No sir, he does not.” 

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but we cannot invite him back within our ranks if he is a vampire.” 

“I know. I think Geoffrey understands that, too. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about this, even if he won’t admit it.” 

The gentleman closest to Jonathan stroked his chin. “Before he left, he was going on about the difference between good and bad vampires. He wanted us to loosen our standards. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he would be having doubts.”

The woman crossed her arms. “And while we yammer on about it, our leader lies dying. We can’t stand here and argue all evening. If you are so certain, Doctor Reid, why choose to engage us in conversation at all? Why not just do it, since it seems you are determined to turn him?”

“There is no argument,” Jonathan said, fixing her with his coldest stare. “I did not have you brought here to convince you of what I am indeed intending to do anyway. I needed you to see for yourselves that there was no other way out of this situation, barring death. Death is not preferable for a man like Geoffrey McCullum, and fortunately for us it is preventable, and so I am going to prevent it. I swore to Geoffrey that I would not turn him without his full consent and I fully understand that these are not ideal circumstances, as he cannot give it to me.

“And you are correct, Madam: I have already let him suffer long enough, and continuing to talk in circles until he succumbs is out of the question. I have done my due diligence by bringing you here, and I request that I be allowed to continue as planned.” He sat down heavily in the chair, waving towards the door. “You may go. We do not require an audience.” 

There was no magic charm behind the words, no sneaky thread of mesmerism, but the force of the words and how truly he meant them were enough to silence the others in the room. 

“Very well, Doctor Reid,” said the man with the crucifix after some time. “We will go, but I would have one of us stay at the hospital for when he...wakes up.”

“I will do it,” said the other gentleman. “Go back to headquarters and tell Mickey what’s happened. Do not tell the others,” he warned.

And then they left, slowly and reluctantly, until only he remained.

He reached over and, to Jonathan’s surprise, held out his hand for Jonathan to shake. “Alfred Chandless. I’ve been with the Guard a long while, lads, and I’ve known Geoffrey a good portion of that time. I’m not pleased with the developments, of course, but I believe that this is still the best outcome, given the circumstances.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Chandless,” Jonathan said earnestly. 

Alfred’s expression was downcast. “I would be glad to have him back when he’s well, but I’m not sure that will be possible.” 

“I know.”

“I’ll leave you now, doctor, but I won’t go too far. Even if it is tomorrow, or the day after that, please summon me once Geoffrey is with us again.”

“You have my word,” Jonathan promised. 

When Alfred had gone, Jonathan wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he reached for Sean’s hand instead, sighing when Sean’s fingers interlaced with his. “Well,” he managed, “should we begin?”

Sean helped him gather supplies even as he admitted, “I’ve never been present for a turning that wasn’t my own.” He gathered a fresh cloth and water as Jonathan instructed, while the doctor sterilized his scalpel purely out of rote habit. 

“It can be risky business, but I’m confident it’s not merely wishful thinking that Geoffrey is more than a match for it.” He stared down at the hunter’s face, lax in sleep but still devastated by the damage of the fall. “I almost feel that this was inevitable. Is that awful?” 

“Not at all. I have thought the same, myself. I do not know Geoffrey’s heart as well as you, but I have little doubt it is the correct course of action.” 

Brushing back Geoffrey’s sweaty hair from his forehead, Jonathan nodded. “I hope he feels the same way.” 

Sean squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “At least we are here to catch him this time.”

\----

They turned off the lights and carefully propped Geoffrey up with the aid of a few pillows. He groaned, his head lolling, and though his eyes opened they were feverish and glassy. 

“Geoffrey,” Jonathan whispered, chasing his gaze. “Can you hear me? Sean is here, as well.” 

The hunter gave no indication he had heard or was even aware they were there. 

With determination and trepidation in equal measure, Jonathan drew his scalpel down his wrist, allowing the blood to well up thick upon the break. He raised it to Geoffrey’s mouth, who jerked away the moment his lips were moistened by the blood. 

“He won’t take it like that,” Sean said softly. 

“It seems that way.”

Switching tactics, Jonathan brought his own mouth to the cut, mindful not to swallow. His mouth thus full of his own blood, he leaned over Geoffrey and clasped his chin, turning his face up and pulling down his jaw in one motion. He slipped his mouth over Geoffrey’s, a sick pantomime of a kiss he hoped never to replicate again, pushing his bloodied tongue as far into Geoffrey’s mouth as he could. The hand at the hunter’s jaw lowered to his throat and massaged gently to encourage swallowing. 

Geoffrey gagged but he didn’t try to spit the fluid back out, which was promising. He did begin to shake, however, and quite violently at that. 

Sean pressed his forehead to Geoffrey’s arm and then directly against his feverish temple, whispering prayers into his quaking skin as Jonathan used his thumb to wipe the excess blood from Geoffrey’s lips. 

There was nothing left to do but wait. 

\----

Hours passed like days, Geoffrey’s body quaking and then falling still, becoming fevered and then frozen, broken and then, visibly, becoming less broken. 

Dawn was fast approaching when his hand shot out to grab at Jonathan, who leapt up, startled. 

Geoffrey’s eyes were open and clear, no longer foggy with drugs and agony, and though his dark blue irises were now frosted over there was no mistaking them from the eyes Jonathan knew so well.    
  
His grip tightened on Jonathan’s arm as he croaked, “What the  _ hell  _ is going on?”

\----


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we've reached the end. Today happens to be my birthday, and I can't think of a better treat than to be able to put a bow on this story!

 

\----

Everything hurt, but it wasn’t a pain he had a name for. It existed everywhere and nowhere, emanating from an undefined place.

Jonathan was there when he opened his eyes, he knew that much, but everything was wrong about him, from the way the shadows fell across his face to how his body was pulsing with a red glow that was hard to look at, so Geoffrey squeezed his eyes shut again, dizzied.

It felt like something heavy and dry was twisting through his guts and his spine, some kind of urge that wasn’t like hunger or thirst but close enough to both to confuse him, and when he managed to open his eyes again he grabbed Jonathan’s arm, hoping the touch would ground him.

“What the _hell_ is going on?”

“Geoffrey,” Jonathan breathed, his hand clasping Geoffrey’s where it lay on his arm. His skin didn’t feel cool as it usually did, and there was this...buzzing all around, and bewildering thoughts filling his mind. “How do you feel?”

_Like shit_ , he wanted to say. _Like death._ But when his mouth opened, nothing came out.

A touch to his other hand startled him. It was Sean Hampton, looking very concerned. “It’s alright, Mr. McCu--Geoffrey. It’s alright. You must feel the terrible hunger, don’t you? I remember it well.”

It was terrible, whatever this feeling was.

Sean’s face was all wrong and he, too, radiated that odd buzzing, but it was different, as if on a unique frequency from Jonathan’s. There was something about it that was...bad, he guessed, something alarming, but also a kernel of something recognizable and familiar.

“He needs to drink,” Sean was saying. “If we address the hunger as soon as possible it will be easier for him to regain his senses.”

Jonathan took him by the hand. “Can you stand?” he asked, and Geoffrey wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if his limbs were up to working, and when he looked down at his body he realized that he was lying in a surgical suite and his clothes were filthy and bloody where he was still wearing them. They appeared to have been cut away in other places.

“Come on,” Jonathan was saying, pulling on his arm, and surprisingly Geoffrey went, his legs unexpectedly sturdy, but he was uncoordinated and fell into Jonathan. “There we go, carefully now. Here.” Jonathan’s deep voice was so soothing but Geoffrey couldn’t understand his actions; he was pulling Geoffrey forward into something like a hug while yanking his collar away, baring the skin of his neck.

“I don’t want that,” Geoffrey grumbled as Jonathan tried to bring him closer. “I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Drink, Geoffrey. Please.”

“I want...I want...water, maybe. Water. I need…”

“You don’t need water,” Jonathan objected, shaking his head. “You need to drink from me. It’s easy, I promise. You don’t need to learn.”

“It’s easy,” whispered Sean, approaching from behind. He placed his hand square in the middle of Geoffrey’s back and applied pressure. “Come on, Geoffrey.”

It wasn’t at all what he wanted but with Jonathan pulling and Sean pushing his lips met hot skin and suddenly the buzzing was right up against his sensitive mouth, and the twisting feeling erupted into something all-consuming instead of merely distracting, and suddenly it was just _happening_ , alien teeth attached to his body sinking easily into Jonathan’s flesh, and then warm, sweet liquid rushed to meet his waiting tongue.

He’d never experienced ecstasy like this before, never felt so right in his life. The revolting feeling of sandpapery dissatisfaction dissolved instantly, replaced by a smooth, quenching sensation like a river running over silt.

Maybe he managed to break himself away, or perhaps he was forced to leave off, but when Geoffrey finally came up for air he found that the world wasn’t nearly as unsettling anymore. Jonathan’s face looked normal, his blue eyes piercing as always as he examined Geoffrey closely. God, _Jonathan_. There were nuances to his smell Geoffrey had never identified before, and nothing would feel better than to have the doctor’s skin against his again, to have his blood filling Geoffrey’s mouth--

“Fuck!” Geoffrey hissed, falling backwards and almost taking Sean with him. He stumbled into the surgery table, knocking some instruments off the tray. “Shit. Fuck!”

He looked at his own hands, felt over his own body. Ran his tongue over his teeth.

The realization hit him like...well.

Perhaps like how falling off a building hit him.

Oh, yes, he remembered now. Not all of it, but enough. The spat with the Priwen captains. His foolhardy desire to prove himself. The beast. The fall. Knowing somewhere in his animal brain that his body was ruined, that he was going to die.

He _was_ going to die. Jonathan told him so. But he was very much alive and whole now, and he had just _drank Jonathan’s blood and_ \--

“Goddamn you, Reid!” he screamed. “Damn you straight to hell!”

Jonathan’s face shuttered off instantly in the same moment as Sean tried to approach him, hands out in a placating gesture.

“Geoffrey,” he started to say.

“And you!” Geoffrey spat, rounding on Sean. “I bet you bloody well sat there and let him do this to me! Some pious bastard you turned out to be, eh?”

“Please,” Sean tried again, firmly. His pearlescent Skal eyes glinted with layers Geoffrey had never seen. “I will not say we had no choice, but the choice we had was very grim indeed. If Jonathan had not done this, you would be dead. Surely you understand that?”

“No. No!” Geoffrey was mumbling now, pushing Sean away. “Get away from me!”

“It was this or death, Mr. McCullum!” Sean insisted, as close to shouting as Geoffrey had ever seen him. “Whether for altruistic or selfish reasons, we couldn’t allow you to die.”

He felt close to tears, suddenly, but his eyes remained dry even as he shuddered with the urge to sob. “Priwen won’t have me this way. I’ve lost the Guard, I’ve lost it all. You should have let me die!”

This seemed to spark something in Jonathan at last.

“How dare you say such a thing?” He marched up to Geoffrey and got right into his face, hands seizing him by the remains of his lapels. “Not only does this world still need someone like you, Geoffrey, but Sean and I need you. We care a great deal about you.”

“You said you wouldn’t.” Geoffrey hiccuped. “You said you wouldn’t do this unless I gave permission.”

Jonathan’s face crinkled in pain. “I know. That was always the plan. I never anticipated this. You were...you were broken, so broken. You had more broken bones than whole ones. You had an aortic rupture. Internal bleeding. You looked _awful_ , Geoffrey. What a dreadful thing it to see you lying there. You can’t imagine how it felt.”

Geoffrey laughed coldly. “I think I can imagine the pain well enough, given it was my body what was smashed to pieces.”

It seemed Jonathan had nothing to say that. He stood there, looking aggrieved.

“We’re not trying to belittle your pain,” Sean said quietly, coming to stand next to Jonathan. “We can only speak to our own, which was fearsome enough. And we knew all the while that there was a simple thing we could do to heal you. The right path spoke to me loud and clear.

“But I know it won’t be easy for you in particular. The transition is difficult even for those who seek it. Jonathan and I have had no delusions that you will take to it happily. I just need you to understand that neither of us will abandon you. I know the desolation of abandonment, and I swear to you, you will never have to experience it yourself.”

“Anything you need, anything at all, we can help you get it,” Jonathan vowed. “If you have questions, we will answer them. If you need sustenance, we will give it to you. If Priwen doesn’t come around, we will house you.”

God, they seemed so earnest, too. Geoffrey was torn between knowing he was being unfair to them and knowing they had also done him a terrible wrong, even if it was for the right reasons.

He’d never even had a chance to say goodbye to his humanity. He could no longer feel the kiss of the sun on his face or eat normal food, drink normal drinks. Presumably alcohol was right out.

And the worst of it was that the substance his life now revolved around, the thing that his beastly mind would focus on above all else, was something that could only be taken from the living. He wanted to protect people, that was the entire purpose of bringing the Guard back from the brink of extinction, and now he was a monster, designed only for preying on them.

“Will I have to kill people?” he whispered.

“No, no. Killing is not inevitable or necessary.”

“I will at least have to drink from them.”

“Only if you want to.” Jonathan clasped Geoffrey’s hands in his and looked him in the eye beseechingly. “Geoffrey, only if you want to.”

Jonathan’s touch felt so good against his skin, but he forced himself to shake the doctor’s hands off.

“I need to think,” he said, clutching his head. “I have to get out of here.”

Sean frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But Jonathan nodded and backed away, giving Geoffrey the space he was clearly craving. “If that’s what you need. Use the balcony in my chambers; we don’t need any imprudent questions regarding your sudden recovery. And...be careful. Mind the sunrise.”

Unwilling to give Jonathan the chance to change his mind, Geoffrey stumbled to the door and threw it open with his body weight. He was startled to find he’d nearly bowled someone over in the process: it was Alfred Chandless.

“Geoffrey!” he said, surprised. “I thought I heard your voice! How are you feeling?”

Geoffrey found he couldn’t bear to answer him; he had no answers, had no idea how to begin to convey the tangled mess of thoughts in his head, which we was now coming to suspect may not all be his.

So he fled, leaving one of his oldest friends standing speechless in the hallway as he barged into Jonathan’s room and ran towards the balcony. Acting purely on instinct he focused on jumping with the shadows as Jonathan and Sean always did. Partially successful, he rushed weightlessly towards the street below but released too early, slamming onto the stones knees-first.

Pissed, in despair, and now freshly bleeding, he disappeared into the night.

\----

The first night, Geoffrey got as far away from Pembroke as he could without entering Priwen’s home territory, settling into one of Jonathan’s many vampire hideouts. This one was deep in the heart of Whitechapel.

The place smelled of Jonathan. Being the soft-hearted doctor he was, Geoffrey imagined there were a lot of miracles for him to perform for the district’s residents.

Although he was angry with Jonathan, the smell helped calm his stinging nerves against his will. Something about sinking into the sheets knowing Jonathan had spent his fair share of days resting within them made the trembling stop, made it possible for him to take stock of his body and the new sensations all around him. Just running here had revealed so many of the vampire’s potential strengths to him. He hadn’t tired or run out of breath. The jump to the safe house was easier the second time he attempted the trick. His every muscle felt electrified, like he could do anything.

When the sun began to rise, all he could do was sleep. It came over him like a pounding downpour of rain, pinning him to the mattress, forcing his eyes to close.

The second night, he did not dare to leave. When he opened his eyes and all of the last day’s events came rushing back, he flew almost immediately into a rage, breaking more than his fair share of items lying around the abandoned house. When he’d exhausted his tolerance for entertaining his emotions he lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling, obsessing over every last detail of his memories, blaming himself for all the things he’d done wrong to land him in this position.

He rifled through the the wreckage of the furniture and found fresh clothes that fit him, though not well.

When he tried to sleep it was nearly impossible. The night called to him, darkness slipping under his skin and attempting to rouse him to hunt.

He resisted, and managed at last to rest as dawn approached.

The third night, he tried to plan. He couldn’t stay here forever, but he didn’t trust himself around innocent civilians. He knew Priwen wouldn’t want him anymore. Their reaction to the mere idea of keeping beneficial relationships open with vampires told him all he needed to know.

What was worse, the dreadful siren of hunger began to sing within his gut anew, Jonathan’s small offering from three nights previous all but forgotten.

It was on the third night that he heard something strange outside, and he dragged himself out of the bed to peer cautiously out the window at the alley below.

There were two figures in the dark, and Geoffrey could tell right away that something was wrong by the way they moved. One of the figures was considerably smaller than the other, and when his eyes adjusted he could see it was a young girl, perhaps 6 or 7 years old, wearing her nightdress. The taller figure behind her was a young man in a ragged suit, leading the little girl into the alley by way of his hand pressed behind her back.

Geoffrey didn’t know how he knew, but he knew the man was a vampire. He knew the vampire’s blood was so-so. He knew the little girl wasn’t acting on her own free will.

He crept onto the balcony silently, surprised at how quietly his feet fell on the old, rotted wood. The leech down below had stopped, presumably coming to a satisfactorily shaded area of the alley. He made a yanking motion with his hand and the little girl’s head fell back, exposing her neck.

Having seen quite enough, Geoffrey shot down from the balcony, urging his body to cooperate with the jump and not give away his newborn status.

The vampire was oblivious until Geoffrey’s feet touched the ground. He turned to Geoffrey and growled, baring his elongated teeth.

“Get your own!” he seethed. “This one’s mine!”

“What do you intend to do?” With the vampire distracted, the little girl’s head lolled onto her shoulder and she swayed in place, the breeze revealing her bare feet beneath her nightgown.

“I’m going to drain you, you moron,” the leech drawled, rolling his eyes. “Why else would I bother coming to a shithole district like this?”

“If it’s so beneath you, why are you hunting here?”

Sighing as if Geoffrey was the stupidest thing this Ekon had ever had the displeasure of speaking with, he said, “Because no one raises a fuss if someone dies out here. ‘S just part of living in Whitechapel. I’ll kill her and dump her body and no one will even care, especially not the police.” He laughed. “Surprised you’re not already on the take.”

“I don’t kill innocents.”

“Then you’re pathetic. Why anyone would bother siring a stupid little coward like you is beyond me.”

It happened quickly from there. The voice screaming for blood in Geoffrey’s subconscious gained full control and all at once he was standing directly in front of the Ekon. He reached out, he thought to land a punch, perhaps, but his hands had morphed into razor sharp claws and he punctured the vampire’s skin easily, tearing into his side. The vampire tried to dart away but Geoffrey was faster; he could see where the other was even as he became immaterial. Before the vampire had even fully materialized again Geoffrey was on him, shredding every bit of flesh he could reach.

Gagging and bleeding heavily, the leech tried to escape once more. Geoffrey tracked his movements up to a small alcove above them, and with very little effort something began to take form in front of him, a spear of some kind, red and glinting in the moonlight.

The spear was on its way already when the vampire touched down on the alcove, and mere fractions of a second later it pierced through his body. He seized and gurgled and then he fell dead, plummeting back to the street with a _thud_.

The scream, though, that was what startled Geoffrey. The little girl was looking at the scene in horror, awakened from her stupor.

“Hush, child,” Geoffrey soothed awkwardly, unsure how to help. He didn’t want to get to close to her in case she was afraid of him, too. “It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Fat tears welled up in her eyes and she began to weep. “I want to go home! I want my mummy!”

“Alright. I’ll take you home to your mum.” He held out his hand to her, and though her teary eyes looked at him in trepidation, she eventually laid her small hand on his.

Hand in hand they left the alley together, the girl doing her best to describe where she lived through her sobs. Geoffrey squeezed her hand gently and soon she quieted into the occasional sniffle. He could sense the thunderclouds of nightmares gathering over her, years, if not a lifetime, of repressed feelings and unnamed terror looming in the back of her mind. Incidents with the otherworldly, particularly vampires, stuck to the human mind like indestructible glue. Personal experience aside, he’d seen it countless times as a Guard.

“This is my house,” she said eventually, pointing at a small brick hovel with a blue door.

Geoffrey knelt so their faces were level, and he held the young child’s gaze with his and poured all of his sincerity into his words. “It’s going to be alright. Go inside to your mum and go back to sleep. It was only a bad dream.” And then again for good measure, “Everything is going to be alright.”

Swiping at her tear-streaked face, the little girl nodded, and Geoffrey smiled at her and ushered her to the door. It was locked, so he knocked on it hard, and as soon as he sensed a living creature rousing and heading for the door he vanished, retreating to a safe place.

From high above he watched the girl’s mother throw open the door, her angry expression melting into puzzlement and then sympathy as she rushed to hold the sniffling little girl to her. He left only once both were safely inside again, the door locked behind them.

The dead Ekon was still where they left him, of course, staring open-eyed at the sky, blood pooling around him, and Geoffrey looked down at him dispassionately. He’d killed plenty of vampires, he was proud to say, but never this easily. As a human, as a well-trained Priwen hunter, he had been deadly, and yet there was always an element of clumsiness, of being outmatched by a creature with supernatural abilities no amount of training would grant him, and God, it had been supremely satisfying to beat the leech at its own game. His body moved seamlessly with his will and he was so much _stronger_ and _faster_ than he’d ever been before.

If the vampires of London had not been afraid of him before, they damn well should be now.

\----

The Shelter was quiet. A misty rain had begun to fall shortly before he arrived, chasing any late night stragglers into their beds, and Geoffrey was careful to enter through the back as he had done many times, usually with Jonathan in tow. He was alone tonight, and self-conscious for it.

He’d never come to Sean alone before. At least not without the promise of Jonathan arriving shortly after.

Sean opened the door immediately, already looking into Geoffrey’s eyes as he did. Geoffrey couldn’t get the jump on his vampires before he’d been turned, and that didn’t seem likely to change after, either.

“Geoffrey,” Sean breathed, clearly relieved to see him. He beckoned him inside and shut the door behind them, locking it so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Although all three of them were bound by their duty and frequently called upon by those who needed them, Sean’s room was usually the most quiet of their respective abodes. The people of the Night Shelter tended to be more self-reliant, and perhaps their hesitation to bother a so-called Saint helped, too.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you. I couldn’t...I can’t face him yet,” he admitted. There was no sense trying to keep anything from Sean. One look at him was enough to loosen his tongue, every time.

“You can stay as long as you need.” Sean peered at him. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”

Bless him, truly. Unable to answer he only nodded tiredly, and Sean smiled.

“You still have a change of clothes here,” Sean reminded him as he prepared the makeshift tub he used for bathing. “And thank God for it, too. If you don’t mind me saying, you look terribly uncomfortable.”

Shucking off the trousers that were too short on him and the shirt that wouldn’t button fully, Geoffrey had to admit he had a point.

“Once you’ve washed and put on some of your own clothes, I think you’ll feel more like yourself again,” Sean was saying, his voice only audible over the rushing of water thanks to Geoffrey’s improved hearing. “Are you hungry?”

He’d been dreading that question, because the answer was yes. He was ravenous to a terrifying degree.

Though he was wearing nothing and Sean was fully clothed, Geoffrey didn’t feel shame when the Skal approached him, looking up at him questioningly. “I have been turned now for many months, and I still find it difficult to ask for what I need in that regard. I understand if you can’t confess to it freely.”

“I am,” Geoffrey croaked, hoping Sean understood what he meant. “Very much.”

Without another word Sean lead him to the bath and had him enter it. The hot water was ecstasy against his skin. When he next glanced up, Sean had removed all of his clothing, too, and then the water was sloshing as he stepped into the tub and straddled Geoffrey’s hips, pressing the fronts of their bodies flush.

It was impossible not to find it arousing, the slippery glide of skin on skin, their groins pressing against each other, and it was _Sean_ , after all; he may not have fancied him in the beginning, when Sean was Jonathan’s first and foremost, but many things had changed since then, like the desperate attraction Geoffrey felt for him now.

Sean clutched Geoffrey’s head to his neck and he needed no further invitation, pushing past the delicate Skal skin easily and tapping directly into a thick vein thrumming with fresh, hot, delicious blood. It was different from Jonathan’s blood, somehow. The whole idea of being able to differentiate between them was bizarre and yet undeniable--Geoffrey knew this taste meant _Sean_ , it was etched into his subconscious, and yet Jonathan’s signature was there, too. It was wholly unexpected and shockingly intimate, knowing Sean this way merely by biting him.

Sean was breathing hard by the time Geoffrey released him, and seemed to be in a daze even as he leaned back and began to wash the hunter matter-of-factly, as if he’d done it hundreds of time already. His short nails felt amazing carding through Geoffrey’s wet hair, the scent of soap joining the steam in the air, and Geoffrey held Sean’s hips as he worked, sighing gratefully.

“It’s strange,” Geoffrey said, breaking the quiet, “getting to taste you. After all the time we spent trying to prevent it.”

Sean hummed. “Does it feel good? To have permission to do it at last?”

Geoffrey made a noise of agreement, pulling Sean close by his middle. He nosed into Sean’s neck, where the punctures were on their way to sealing already. “It feels incredible.”

Sighing, Sean tilted his face upwards by his chin and sealed his lips against Geoffrey’s. They kissed languidly, bodies hot among the water and steam, and Sean gasped when Geoffrey rolled his hips, their erections sliding together, and Geoffrey wasn’t ready for the heady jolt that seared his nerves at the contact.

He was hyper aware of Sean’s movements, the way the blood moved through his body quicker and quicker as they bucked into each other, and when Geoffrey slid his hand around both their cocks and pumped them in time he felt as if Sean was just an extension of himself, as if he had unfettered access to the Skal’s excitement.

The orgasm hit him like a punch to the gut because Sean was coming, too--the sensations doubled and then fell back to layer upon themselves and he thought he might die like this, but eventually he came to and found himself panting in the bath, Sean’s slack body resting on his chest.

They washed a final time, ridding themselves of the evidence of their coupling, and Sean drained the water as Geoffrey toweled himself off, limbs feeling looser, mind feeling freer, than they had since he’d been turned.

When he and Sean slipped under the covers together, a sense of something not unlike peace settled over him.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered.

Sean rolled over to face him. “Not at all. You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m still angry,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his damp hair. “But feeling sorry for myself doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.” He told Sean about the Ekon he’d killed, the beast preying on a small, innocent child.

“That was a good thing you did,” Sean said approvingly, once he’d finished.

“And that’s my point--I’ve come to understand the potential I have now. I could become ten times the hunter I ever was. I can use this for good, and I fully intend to.”

“I know you will.” Sean smiled. “This affliction is truly both a gift and a curse. The degree to which it is either, I’ve found, depends on what you choose to make of it.”

Somewhere in his mind, Geoffrey felt a tug. It was soft and reluctant, a probing gesture.

Jonathan.

_I’m fine_ , he thought, projecting it as hard as he could to make sure the message was received. _I’m fine. I’m not ready yet._

The presence vanished.

“We both worry about you,” Sean said. It seemed he’d received a tug of his own. “But to be honest, I don’t think it’s necessary. You’re a good man. Becoming an Ekon doesn’t change that, and it doesn’t change the Lord’s love for us.”

Geoffrey tugged Sean close, breathing in the scent of his hair. “I’m not so sure about the Lord’s love, but I’d settle for yours.”

The future was full of unknowns, but Geoffrey and Sean slept peacefully and did not dream. Tomorrow was another day.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! This chapter leaves a lot of ends open, but there will be a final oneshot installment to this series to tie them all up.


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